


Bruises

by amberxwrites



Series: Hollyoaks Oneshots [8]
Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: And he's sorry, M/M, Please Love me, alternate universe where things are shit, but he regrets it, but i like to make things depressing, especially me, i have no friends, i know brendan would never kill ste, so please forgive him and me, so that's what happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27982668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberxwrites/pseuds/amberxwrites
Summary: Brendan sits in his room and thinks back to the night he killed the love of his life.
Relationships: Brendan Brady/Ste Hay
Series: Hollyoaks Oneshots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019205
Kudos: 2





	Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> i dunno what colour ste's eyes are so let me know if i got it wrong :)

I stared at the grey, austere walls of my penitentiary, listening to the deafening voices of other jostling patients. Over the loud murmurs down the hall rose an unmistakable roar, scaring everyone back into their rooms. I ignored the commotion, focusing heavily on the wall in front of me. I felt restrained, locked in a cage like a wild animal, unable to break free.

I averted my eyes, allowing them to scan over my shiny, metal friend. The one who loved me. The only one who could put a smile on my face.

They told me I needed to be here. I knew I needed to be here. I just didn't want to be here.

I wanted to go home, although it wasn't really home now. It never would be again. Not now he's gone.

It's my fault. Everything that happened was my fault.

If he had never met me, he would never have left. He wouldn't be a cursed soul wandering to the edges of the unknown universe, dreaming about being here again.

If it wasn't for me, he would still be alive.

I often think back to that weekend. The weekend I wanted to forget. The weekend I could never forget. The weekend that changed everything.

I was angry, furious even. It wasn't his fault. He never did anything. It was my own messed up head. He knew that. I knew that. Yet, he still would've taken a bullet for me, and quite frankly, I would've been the one pulling the trigger. He allowed me to take out my anger on him, someone who had done nothing but love me. I let him leave our home covered in bruises, leaving him to lie about where they had come from. _"Oh, I just tripped." "I'm so clumsy." "No, it's not Brendan. Brendan's nothing but good for me."_ A different fabricated, untold truth each time. I knew they didn't believe him. Why would they? He was never a good liar.

His hair was always styled to perfection, not a strand out of place. Its light brown colour complicated his once clear tanned skin nicely. His eyes were unmissable, a bright shade of blue, as inviting as a pool of water to the dehydrated. It was guaranteed that you would fall in love with his elegant smile. His whole appearance screamed ravishing, even the way he dressed. Never wearing a mismatched outfit. There is no such thing as perfect, but Steven Hay wasn't far off. He deserved so much more than an enraged, bitter man who never treated him right. But he never left. He loved me, even though I didn't deserve it.

Love is a crazy thing. It makes you blind to what's really happening. Like the way everyone warned him that I didn't really care about him. They didn't know what they were talking about. I cared for him more than I cared for myself. I would love him until the world ended. Steven dismissed all their worries, sticking with me throughout it all. I couldn't help it though. They got inside his head. Made him think ' _abuse_ '. Like flashing lights in his mind, always there and impossible to ignore.

They thought I was a bad guy, and I just had to prove them right.

I couldn't help the sinister grin I wore when I saw him hurt. It wasn't me. That wasn't the real me. But they knew. They all knew it wasn't love. As much as I wanted to believe it was, you don't leave bruises on the people you love. I hadn't meant to hurt him though. I didn't want that. But it happened, and it was the worst weekend of my entire life.

It was the weekend he lost his life.

I had heard the whispers from the neighbours, accusing him of cheating on me. _"Good on him." "That disgusting man deserves the pain."_ It all got too much. I went storming into the house, slamming every door open. My eyes accusingly scanned every room, as if I'd catch them going at it in the bathtub or the broom cupboard. I eventually found him. He was huddled in the corner of our shared bedroom, fear evidently written over his pale face. I didn't find myself caring though. I was too angry.

"Where is he?!"

"W-Who?"

"Your dirty little secret. I know you're cheating on me!" I spat, stomping straight towards the fragile boy.

"Calm down, please." He spoke calmly, standing up and stepping warily closer to me.

"Calm down?! You disgusting, unfaithful whore." I sneered, grabbing his arm and squeezing firmly.

"Please let go." He whispered, on the verge of tears. All I saw was a fake, attention seeking slut. So I lashed out. I violently gripped his shoulders, sending him flying backwards into the wall. He collapsed on the floor, a pathetic, broken mess. I didn't care. I started trashing the room, aggressively shoving over the drawers and smashing the vases against the wall. I heard an alarmed squeak and the sound of footsteps pattering across the floor. I snapped my head to the side just in time to see the bathroom door slam shut. Filled with rage, I almost ripped the door off its hinges, acting out before I even realised what I had done. I saw his head slam against the mirror, shattering it to pieces as he fell to the floor. My eyes widened as I took a step back, shakily coming to terms with the damage I had caused.

All the pain. All the destruction. This is how it ended.

Late at night, in the house once filled with warmth and happiness. Surrounded by the metal scars that would haunt me forever, and the lifeless body of the boy I loved.

So I sit here. Here in this lifeless, lonely bastille. And I think. I think of Ste. I think of that night. I think of who I used to be. And most importantly, I think of how I'm exactly where I need to be.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on wattpad @randys_sidechick


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